Personal Space
by the Prince's Jewel
Summary: Castiel's lesson on personal space leads to something he never expected - certain Tatoosh warnings apply  edit: if you do not know what a Tatoosh warning is, you are not allowed to read this fic


Dean snarks quietly to himself as he attempts to sponge the ick off his leather jacket. He turns back to the sink, and jerks in shock. "Gah! Don't do that!" he snaps.

"Hello, Dean."

He turns. Castiel doesn't move. Of course Castiel doesn't move. Why would he? The idiot angel never does remember what Dean keeps telling him. His mouth opens, "Dude, we've talked about this." He gets the slightly confused look he expects from the angel. "Personal space?"

Castiel apologizes. Again. It's one too many. Dean reaches out and drags Castiel in, mouth slanting hard over the angel's. Vessel's? Whatever, he's kissing Castiel. Who isn't responding, exactly. Dean pulls back, and the apologetic look has gone to "?" instead. He snickers a little, and leans back in.

Castiel isn't fighting him. He's not kissing back, but he's not fighting. Dean runs his tongue into the other's mouth, and shoves the trench coat down his arms. It puddles on the floor as Castiel makes a startled squeak. Dean swallows it, one hand reaching up to tangle in Castiel's hair and tug him to a better angle. The other hand is making short work of Castiel's sloppily done tie, then the buttons, and Castiel is finally kissing back.

It's hesitant, and uncertain, but Castiel is kissing him back. Dean grins into the kiss, and pulls back long enough to shove the suit jacket and shirt to the floor as well. He captures Castiel's mouth again, turning them so the angel is backed up against the sink. Dean grabs Castiel's hair again, angling the angel so he can see as he runs his free hand where he thinks Castiel's chronically invisible wings should spring from.

Castiel gasps a little, and Dean refocuses on kissing the idiot senseless. His hand runs down to grasp a hipbone, and the other releases Castiel's hair to locate and rub over his nipple. The angel whimpers. Dean releases his mouth, aiming for his neck instead. Castiel moans, head lolling to give Dean more access.

He decides to push it, see just how far Castiel will let him go. Dean continues to suck and lick along Castiel's neck, but his hands unfasten belt and slacks, then push them down. Castiel doesn't even try to stop him, and that pisses Dean off. He's rough when he grabs the angel's cock and starts stroking, rougher pinching a nipple. Castiel squeaks again, hips arching towards Dean, but he still doesn't try to stop him.

Dean steps back and spins Castiel around. Then he's plastering himself against the angel's back, steadily pumping the already rigid cock and plucking at his nipples. Castiel moans, and leans heavily against Dean. The blonde goes to work on the angel's neck again, muttering filth about how hot Cas is, and how good he looks in the mirror. Castiel starts to leak, and Dean recklessly pushes him forward.

This is an angel. Angels don't eat. They don't shit. There won't be anything nasty down there, and Dean's pissed, but he's not gonna really hurt Castiel. Cas is his - his guardian angel. He kisses and bites his way down Castiel's back until he's on his knees. It doesn't take much time to get Cas out of his shoes and pants, and little urging to get him to spread his legs more.

Dean attacks the displayed ass with his tongue. He was right - there isn't any ick, so he takes the time to enjoy the sensations and Castiel's broken half-words that make no sense, but sound completely wanton. By the time he stands up again, Castiel's barely managing to stand on his own, and comes with a strange, warbling cry. Dean rips his pants open, coating his cock with Castiel's first orgasm.

He doesn't waste any time lining himself up, but he's careful as he eases in, since most likely Cas is a virgin. Was a virgin, he thinks smugly as he finishes sliding his way into the angel's ass. He refuses to believe Cas could be so tight just because it's been awhile. Castile is shaking as Dean leans into him and starts slow. Cas feels good, though, and it's not long before he's going harder and faster. Castiel makes that same warbling cry when Dean comes in him.

Dean gives him a moment before he slips out. A couple wet paper towels later, and they're both cleaned up. Cas meets his eyes in the mirror. Dean takes in the look of sated confusion, and grins. "So, Cas. Enjoy your first time?"

Cas tilts his head, that odd little bird-like motion he uses when he doesn't quite understand something. The sated part of his expression is rapidly receding in the face of his confusion. "I feel odd," he says at last. "I have never done such a thing before."

Dean's grin gains wattage. He was right: Cas was a virgin. He's just deflowered an angel. "So? Enjoy it?"

Cas nibbles at his lower lip. Dean watches in fascination. Cas has never done anything so odd. He watches as Cas slides his hands over his body, and his spent dick gives a little hitch of interest. "I do not understand. It does not feel the same when I do this." Cas plucked at a nipple in imitation of Dean, and winced. "It… hurts?"

"Yeah, you'd be really sensitive right now." Cas is still touching himself, lifting his limp penis to examine it.

"Why does it not react as when you touched it?"

"Takes awhile to recharge, Cas. So, what are you here for?" It's almost amusing, Castiel's almost child-like curiosity with the body he wears. "And get dressed, would you? Playtime's over."

"Oh, yes, of course." Dean blinks, Castiel is dressed. Dean lifts an eyebrow, and heads into his room. He needs a clean shirt anyway. He dresses while Castiel tells him what's going on, but he can't help notice how the angel seems more anxious than usual.

Later, when Castiel finally returns bearing a jug of oil from Jerusalem of all places, he finishes telling Dean his plan. Which leads them to the bar where Dean plans to have Castiel lose what's left of his virginity. Dean finds his angel's discomfort utterly amusing, but he really figured Castiel would have more of a clue about how to treat a woman.

They go back to the house, with Deal still spurting into spontaneous giggle fits every time he looks at Castiel's puzzled face. The angel follows him back into the room. "Seriously, Cas, you couldn't just have sex with her?"

"I don't know how. I told you, I've never had occasion to have sex." Cas tugs nervously on his tie. "I've never wanted to have sex with anyone. It's not… angelic."

Dean bursts into laughter, draping himself over Castiel in an attempt to remain standing. When he hits his knees, in spite of Cas trying to help hold him up, the trench coat hits the ground. Dean leans directly on Castiel's crotch, still laughing. His giggles and guffaws are partially muted as he turns his face in, pressing closer to mouth at the covered flesh already hardening with his ministrations.

Dean digs his fingers into Castiel's hips, then slides them just beneath the waistband to bring them to the front. He makes quick work of the belt and fastenings, and Castiel's pants are soon around his ankles, his hands clutching at Dean's short hair, and his cock buried deep in Dean's throat.

Castiel doesn't make much noise this time either. Short little gasps of shock or pleasure, and occasional little squeak. Dean watches him sometimes while he works Castiel's cock. Cas is braced up against the door, eyes closed, his head jerking a little with some of Dean's motions. When he comes, he lets loose with that warbling cry again. Dean licks him clean before pulling his pants back into place. He doesn't bother to fasten the belt, and leaves the shirt untucked.

He's on his feet before Cas opens his eyes. The angel starts to take a step, and stumbles instead. He crashes down on his knees, one hand pressed hard against his belly, the other over his mouth. "Cas? Cas, you okay?"

Castiel looks up at him with that puzzled expression, but there's something else there. Dean's not sure what it is. "Cas, you okay? Angels don't puke, do they?"

"No." But Castiel's voice is more hoarse than usual, and his skin is a chalky pale instead of flushed with satiation. "I… I am not sure what… I feel…. This sensation is not one I am familiar with."

It takes a bit before Dean is convinced that Castiel isn't gonna puke. He hauls the angel to his feet, then over to the sleeping bag he's laid out. "Rest a bit," he advises. "It's hours yet 'til sunrise."

Castiel obeys, lying passively on the bag. Angels don't sleep, though, so he spends the entire time staring up at the ceiling. Occasionally, he looks over to where Dean is snoozing, slumped in his chair with his head on the table. The confusion in his expression never abates, but there's a certain desolation beginning to build up behind his eyes. Something is _wrong_, and Castiel doesn't know what it is.

Eventually, though, it's time for the ritual.

And Castiel's world falls apart.

He's totally silent after their prey's disgusted observation.

Totally silent as he turns and heads for the door, the reason he had come forgotten.

Silent as he gets into the Impala.

Silent for the ride back to the house, where he silently packs Dean's things before taking them back out to the car. He reseats himself on the passenger side, but says nothing when Dean - still cursing - slides in behind the wheel.

It's another three hours before the shell-shocked expression leaves his face, and when he finally turns to face Dean again, he looks like a wounded puppy. "But I did not have sex with that woman in the den of iniquity," he says softly, voice sad and lost. "How can what Uriel said be true? I disobeyed, but I did not… I have not…"

"It was me," Dean says, short and sharp and curt. "You had sex with me, alright?"

"No I haven't," Cas replies after giving him a searching look.

"Fine, then I had sex with you. What did you think was going on, Cas?"

"But I haven't!" Cas whispers. "I can not have sex with you while I am in a male vessel."

Dean glances over, takes in the shattered look in his angel's eyes. Swearing, he yanks the wheel and pulls into the oh-so-convenient crap motel he'd planned on bypassing. A few minutes later, and he's pulling Castiel into the room he got for them, and sits Cas down on the end of the single king bed. "Cas, you do know what sex is, don't you?"

"Of course. It was Father's way to ensure the propagation of his human children. A man joins with a woman to produce a child."

Dean tilts his head, looking down at Cas out of the corner of his eyes. "And when an angel has sex?"

"It is a sin," Cas answered promptly. "An angel and a human cannot produce another human. Instead, if the woman does get pregnant, she gives birth to an abomination."

Dean blinks at this. "An abomination?"

Cas gives him a patient look. "Where did you think the monsters came from, Dean? They are the descendants of those abominations." Dean's jaw drops as Cas continues, "They are the visible result of a fallen angel's twisted, ruined grace."

"Shit, Cas!"

"But I have not created such an abomination. I have not had sex. How can he have said that my grace has been twisted and ruined in such a manner?"

"What is it called when men have sex with men?"

"An abomination, of course."

"And when an angel has sex with a man?"

Castiel hesitates a moment. "That cannot happen unless the ang…." He frowns. Understanding creeps in slowly. His eyes widen, his face pales. "I am an abomination in the eyes of my father," he whispers. "He will never forgive this sin. My grace… it will be polluted. Foul and dark as any demon's. I am not… I am not an angel. I am fallen. I am evil. I am an abomination."

"No, Cas, no!" Dean's on his knees now, kneeling between Castiel's parted thighs, gripping his hands. "That's not true, Cas. You're an angel. My angel, remember? God sent you to me. My guardian angel."

"My grace…" Castiel whispers. He lifts his head just enough to meet Dean's eyes. "An angel… who lies with his charge… is an abomination. My grace is as twisted as Raphael said."

"No! No, Cas." Dean's hands cradled Castiel's face. "No. You're my angel. No matter what happens. You are my angel. God sent you to me. Didn't He? Didn't He?"

"Yes."

"Has He ever recalled you, Cas? Did God tell you to go back to Heaven and abandon me?"

"I received orders…."

"From Zachariah. Is Zachariah God, Castiel?"

"No!" The denial is instantaneous.

"Did God tell you to abandon me?"

"No."

"So you rebelled against Heaven, but you didn't rebel against God, did you?"

"No." Castiel seems to be a bit calmer. Dean strokes his cheeks with his thumbs, angling his hands now to cradle Castiel's jaw.

"That's right. And you haven't had sex with me, Cas. I raped you. There's a difference."

"You raped me?" Cas is back to whispering, and his eyes are wide.

"I thought you knew what we were doing," Dean explains. "You didn't try to stop me, so I thought you were willing. But if you didn't know what was going on, then you weren't really willing."

"I can always stop you, Dean. If I did not, then I was willing." Castiel's hands are on Dean's shoulders now.

Dean pulls him in, kissing him again. Castiel goes a little cross-eyed before he's done, and his fingers tighten on Dean's shoulders when the blonde tries to pull away. "That's a kiss, Cas," he murmurs.

"I know what a kiss is. But I do not… I do not know what we have done that was sex. I have not lain with you." Castiel gave him that inquiring bird-look.

Dean snorted. "Dude. I stuck my tongue and my dick in your ass, and your cock in my mouth. That's three kinds of sex right there. Had my fingers up your ass, too, but that's just prep work and foreplay."

"How many kinds of sex are left?"

Dean shrugs. "I've done you three ways. I jerked you off, too, but that's more along the lines of masturbation. And there's sex with women."

Castiel is facing him, but his eyes look inward. Dean can almost see Castiel trying to work it out. He sighs. "Fine. Dick in ass, tongue in ass, fingers in ass, cock in mouth, hand on dick. Reciprocation on those. Your cock, tongue, or fingers up a woman's vagina, ass, or in her mouth."

Castiel blinks. His head tilts in spite of Dean's hold. "I do not want to have sex with a woman," he says after a moment. "I do not want to go inside any more dens of iniquity. They are… alarming."

Dean chuckles, and pulls Cas in for another kiss. The angel reciprocates eagerly, but his eyes are still lost when Dean pulls back. "Dean. I wish to continue to have sex with you. But -" He stops, suddenly uncertain, as Dean gapes at him.

"You want to keep fucking?"

"No. I wish to continue to have sex with you. But only the kinds of sex we have already had. I do… I do not want to foul my grace more than I already have. What I have already done is enough. I cannot repair the damage done to my grace, and I cannot be forgiven for what I have done. But I will not… I cannot…" His eyes are damp now. "I can't fall any further, Dean. I must be able to protect you."

It occurs to Dean that repeating a sin is probably still a sin, but Cas is leaning in to the kiss he's giving him, and wearing far too many clothes. "You got too many clothes on," he gasps when they break the kiss, and when he leans in for another, Castiel is naked under his hands.

This time, Dean's waiting when Castiel cries out, and he swoops to swallow that strange warble in a kiss. Castiel's release is hot and sticky on his stomach as he pushes into the angel's body harder and faster, working for his own release once he breaks the kiss. He hears the softer cry as he comes deep inside the brunette, but favors relishing the sensations to listening. He collapses a few delicious moments later, twisting himself free of Castiel and landing beside instead of on him at the very last second.

Dean smoothes his hand through the semen coating Castiel's stomach, catching up a thick glob on his fingers. Following a perverse impulse, he pushes his fingers back into Castiel's ass and blends their sperm with scissoring motions. Castiel gasps and shudders, his body still sensitive from his orgasm. Dean takes full advantage of his sensitivity, though his finger-fucking is lazily executed.

He makes Cas come with just his fingers in the angel's ass, and gathers up a fresh glob of angelic sperm to mix in with the dregs of his own still leaking from the whimpering angel's bottom. Castiel has a death grip on the sheets, and his body arcs and twitches with every little movement of Dean's fingers.

It takes him six more hours of the continuous use of his tongue and fingers and cock, but Dean succeeds in fucking Castiel into unconsciousness.

Castiel goes from unconscious to wide awake instantaneously, and it is only a matter of seconds before the silent tears begin to roll. He says nothing and makes no movement that will betray his awakened status to the man wrapped around his vessel's naked form. This is not his body, and Dean has not been taking his pleasure in him. He has been taking his pleasure in _Jimmy_, not in Castiel. Dean will never be able to take his pleasure in Castiel, or to show Castiel what heights of passion his body can be driven to. He can only make use of the vessel that Castiel fills, because he cannot bear the sight or sound of Castiel's true form.

And the vessel is not pleased with him. At all. The vessel wants him out, wants him gone. He wants his life and wife back, his home, his job, his daughter. Castiel does not kiss Dean goodbye. He appears naked outside of Jimmy's home, quickly cleansing and clothing the borrowed form. Then he releases the remaining hold he had over the body back to its true owner.

He has nowhere to go. There is no vessel for him now. He cannot hear his brethren. Instead, there is a sickening undercurrent of dark whispers that he cannot quite make out, and is entirely certain he does not wish to be able to make out. Worse, that _wrongness_ he felt inside the vessel's body is much more pronounced. He launches himself upward, wings pumping frantically to get him far enough from the humans so that he will not destroy their hearing when he screams with the sudden onslaught of pain. It hurts to fly, but he perseveres, hurts to hold his voice in until he is safely away.

He can only hope that he did not blind anyone as he crashes into the trees, his screams coming as quickly as he can draw the breaths they require. His throat is raw and bleeding, vocal chords silenced before the screams end. He coughs angelic blood onto the carpet of mossy leaves he has landed on, and crawls to lean shakily against one of the trees that broke his fall.

He is a fallen angel. There is no way around that, not now. He can feel what is left of his grace, feel just exactly how foul it is, how twisted, how ruined. Leaning against the tree, he offers silent prayers of forgiveness and entreaty. He swears to do his duty in spite of his fallen nature, swears that he will continue to protect Dean until he has nothing left with which to protect the human given into his charge. He swears that the last of his grace and what is left of his pitiful existence will be used for Dean until he is given new orders. Then he returns to begging forgiveness for the sin that made him fall, and entreaty that the sin will not be held against Dean.

When the sun rises, he returns to Dean's side, careful to remain unobservable. Dean, he finds, is very, very angry with him. Still, he does what he can, as he swore. He is no archangel, not like his brothers Michael and Lucifer. He is only a simple angel of the Lord, a mere foot soldier, but what he can do, he does.

He protects Dean with everything he has, but he can no longer approach the other. Not in his true form. He can and does leave notes and messages, but Dean grows angrier at him with each one. He stops when he realizes that Dean's anger is seriously counterproductive to his protective service - and worse, has made the angels angry with him. It is much easier to protect Dean from humans and demons than it is from his brethren.

Not that they consider him a brother any longer. He has fallen, and to them he is merely another of Lucifer's minions to be destroyed. Except, that he isn't Lucifer's. He still follows his last order from God to the very best of his increasingly limited ability. The constant battles with the angels have worn him to a thread of the angelic foot soldier he once was, but no one else has been appointed to watch over his charge. He asks each angel as they appear, and they always tell him no before they try to kill him.

So far, he has managed to be strong enough to survive, but his strength is fading with each battle. It is not just the angels, after all. The demons are as interested in killing Dean as the angels are in killing Castiel. Not to mention the dangers on the hunts.

It is after one hunt that things come to a head. Castiel is weakened, and too slow to stop Dean from being mauled. He is still strong enough to rip the abomination apart, so he does. Dean is unconscious, so it is safe enough to take his true form. Castiel works desperately to stop the bleeding. He was never particularly skilled in healing others, but every little bit of the skill he does have goes into healing Dean.

When Dean wakes up, Castiel takes a load of rock salt to the face, and a demon-killing knife to the gut. As he is still somehow immune to both, he is merely reduced to a rather gory mess of former glory. And weak as he is, it takes him several minutes to repair the damage. By the time he has healed his eyes, Dean has tried holy water and silver; and is preparing to behead him.

Dean does not know his true form. More importantly, Dean does not know this weakened, tainted version of his true form. Castiel flings up his hand, managing to catch the blade. "Dean!" he cries involuntarily, and immediately claps a hand over his mouth. The other is still trying to hold off a machete.

Dean doesn't even wince, though, ripping the blade free of Castiel's grip and swinging again. Castiel summons his ruined grace to form a twisted parody of the shield he once wielded, managing barely in time to deflect the blow. So Dean slams it into his leg, and Castiel shrieks as the metal bites into his corporeal form. Dean should not be able to do that! Dean should not be able to hear his true voice without doubling up in pain. "How can you look at me? How can you hear me?" Castiel demands unthinkingly.

"It's my job to be able to get rid of things like you," Dean hisses back. "Not sure what you are, but you'll be dead soon enough."

Dean thinks he is something to be hunted. The summoned shield dissipates as horror fills Castiel. "Castiel," he whispers. "I am Castiel."

"Liar!" Dean swings, but his intent is to maim, not kill. Castiel shrieks again, his remaining hand grabbing for his bleeding stump.

"I am Castiel!" He spreads his wings. "This is what I look like without my vessel!" Dean puts the machete through the wing he brings forward to guard against the next attack. Castiel screams and drops, landing on the broken wing, staring at the severed hand Dean has taken from him. "I fell," he whimpers. "I fell, and this… this is what happened."

"Cas is dead!" Dean roars, whirling, bringing the machete down again. Castiel cannot scream this time: The pain is too great. Dean has taken both of his wings. He is truly fallen now, and the remains of his grace, black instead of shining silver, pour from his severed wings.

Castiel looks up at Dean, sees him ready to make the final blow. "I will not invade your personal space again," he says softly, and sees the horrified realization on Dean's face as he feels the blade meet his throat.


End file.
